


Whenever You Need

by BabylonsFall



Series: Prompts [14]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e08 And the Point of Salvation, blink and you miss it angst, see note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: Ezekiel probably hadn't meant to send that text. But, if he needed someone around for the night, for whatever reason, Jacob was more than happy to stop by.





	Whenever You Need

**Author's Note:**

> So awhile ago, I was given the prompt of _3 (a tired kiss): jazekiel_ off a prompt list. And despite how long it took me to fill it, this is the result!
> 
> About the post-episode tag: the Point of Salvation and Ezekiel's subsequent ptsd is never mentioned explicitly, but it is hinted at, just to make people aware.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Honestly? Honestly, Jacob just wanted to sleep.

He wasn’t exhausted, not yet, could still go and go and go. He’d certainly gone on less before. If he needed to be, he’d be fine.

As it was, the only thing keeping him up was him. But, he had somewhere to be, and, dammit, he was getting there.

Of course, all things considered, he  _ had  _ been asleep. In a warm...well, okay, no, if he was gonna whine, he was gonna be honest, even in his own head. He had fallen asleep at the desk that had taken over the kitchen in his apartment. Hell, if he’d stayed asleep there much longer, he would’ve woken up with a crick in his neck bad enough to set him back most of the day, barring apocalyptic adrenaline shots.

The road beyond his car was running past in that blurred, faintly unreal way most backroads had at night, when the moon was thin and street lamps out this way were a laughable fever dream of some bored city-planner—the road under the yellow light of his headlamps constantly moving but never really changing; the curb and grass alongside just enough out of the light to muddle and blend and give the illusion of a wider road, up until a tire clunked over the edge and ate gravel and roughed up asphalt before he corrected it.

He should be home. Asleep. Not driving down the backroads to the other side of Portland in the middle of the night.

(Or at least somewhere with street lamps. But, habit had pulled him out of the way, and out of the way he stayed.)

His phone buzzed, where he’d tossed it in the passenger seat, a couple times in a row, the screen just bright enough to throw a faint light across the cab with the alerts. He didn’t pick it up—sure, he was coordinated enough, trusted that no one was out this way this time of night, and knew this route like the back of his hand, but...well, he had a pretty good idea who they were from and what they said.

Besides. If it was Eve, and it was important, she’d call, not text. And Cassandra didn’t stay up this late if she could help it, and if something was wrong, she tended to call Eve first, who then called everyone else. Jenkins had texted him a grand total of  _ once  _ in the time they’d known each other, and Flynn never had. So, process of elimination, he probably had a certain thief yelling at him. And since he’d be seeing said thief in about...five minutes, looking at the texts was kind of a moot point.

Sure enough, when he pulled up to the complex parking lot a couple minutes later and stopped to grab his phone, there were three new messages from Ezekiel.

_ ignore that _

_ cowboy, you better not be coming over _

_ you’re coming over aren’t you _

Jacob rolled his eyes. Of course he was.

He hadn’t been sure what had woken him up, originally. He’d just ended up blinking a couple times, trying to figure out what beneath his cheek was hard, and why he was feeling a twinge in his back. Which, of course, led to him realizing he was slumped over his desk in a way he was bound to regret, and that something had woken him up. It had taken a few moments, honestly, before he’d even thought to check his phone, where it was on the desk beside him.

The message hadn’t even been a complete sentence, likely accidentally sent in the middle of being deleted.

_ could you come ov _

And he’d been out the door two minutes later.

Sure, he was worried. Wanted to make sure Ezekiel was okay. But he also wasn’t going to just barge in. So, he stayed in his truck long enough to send a message in return.

_ Of course I am. But I can still turn around, if ya want, see ya in the morning instead. _

He could. Ignore all of this. Wouldn’t be the first time. Probably wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes Ezekiel wanted him around, sometimes he couldn’t stand to share his space with anyone. Jacob got it, well as he could. Hell, sometimes he couldn’t stand to be around other people either—noises grating too loud, or rubbing up weird on his nerves, or even smaller things he couldn’t put a name too (or had plenty of names, but didn’t want to deal with right then). It wasn’t the _same_ , but still. It was enough. If Ezekiel wanted space, he’d give it to him. Maybe check in, in the morning. And be just as ready to drop by the next time.

It took a long moment—the only sounds around him the faint shrill of a siren in the distance (going silent a second later anyway), his own breathing, and the occasional rustle and clang that just came from a living neighborhood—before his phone buzzed in his hand.

_ get up here already _

And maybe his grin was a little stupid and his eye-roll unnecessary, but whatever. No one was around to see anyway.

So, out of the truck (locked up behind him), punching in the code to the front door, up the elevator to the top floor, out in the hall, and knocking on the door at the end in record time. He’s pretty sure Ezekiel made him wait a minute there before the door swung open, and while normally he’d get huffy, play it up a bit, honestly, all that told him was that Ezekiel was in a good enough mood to screw with him.

And this time he didn’t have the excuse of no one being around for his definitely stupid grin. If he had to, he could say he was tired.

But, since Ezekiel just looked at him with a little smile of his own—tired, but not pinched, not forced—Jacob didn’t really spare a thought to defending himself. Overall, Ezekiel looked okay, and that did so much more to take most of the tension Jacob hadn’t even realized he was carrying since he got the first text. Sure, a little muzzy around the edges, clothes clearly having been slept in, and hair a flyaway mess—but his eyes were clear, and the look he was giving Jacob was pure fond exasperation.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” Ezekiel asks, stepping back to let him in. Jacob just shrugged—they’d covered this months ago, when all of  _ this  _ started—whatever  _ this  _ was, in the long run—and Ezekiel hadn’t complained yet, so he was willing to bet it was one of the things actually working in his favor honestly.

The apartment around them was dark, the only light coming from the tv on the wall—paused on some movie he couldn’t immediately identify—but what he  _ could  _ see didn’t raise any alarm bells. Sure, the kitchen table was a mess (but not the floor around it), and the couch was piled high with blankets and pillows (but not overturned), and the counters in what he could see of the kitchen were clear (and he was willing to bet the floor was clear of shattered glass and ceramic).

Really, if Ezekiel hadn’t accidentally sent him that text, and if Jacob couldn’t see the slump to his shoulders, everything pointed to just being a normal night.

As it was, Ezekiel collapsed back on the couch, sending a couple pillows and one of the blankets to the floor, but not really seeming all that interested in correcting them. Jacob rolled his eyes, grabbing one of the pillows to gently toss at Ezekiel’s chest, grinning when he huffed at him.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, voice low because it fit the dark, not soft because Ezekiel hated that, eyeing the couch to figure out where he could sit that would dislodge the fewest number of pillows (and not Ezekiel, in case he did want to say something, because being under a microscope was the quickest way to make him rabbit).

But, to his relief, Ezekiel just snorted, reaching up to grab his arm and haul him down on the couch next to him. It wasn’t a graceful landing, but it was effective. “Nothing to talk about. Woke up, couldn’t go back to sleep. Same thing as last night.” And Jacob hums in response, because he trusted Ezekiel—if he said there’s nothing to talk about, nothing that Jacob can help with by talking through, that he can only help by sticking around, then there’s nothing to talk about.

That Ezekiel was willing to let him this close as it was, when Jacob knew he’d dealt with nightmares (and anxiety and paranoia and panic attacks) all on his own for  _ months  _ even after they’d started  _ this _ , was a gift he wasn’t going to question.

Just be there.

He could do that.

So, he lightly shoved Ezekiel’s shoulder because that landing had put them both in a weird spot that wasn’t comfortable for either of them, and Ezekiel laughed at him, and he took a moment to resituate himself.

“What’re we watching?” Like it was that easy (because it was). He ended up leaning against the corner of the couch, one arm stretched across the back in an obvious play that Ezekiel would normally roll his eyes at and purposefully avoid, but was apparently tired enough, mellow enough, to just curl up under for now, pressing heavy and warm against his side. (Jacob knew he wouldn’t stay there, not for long. Even almost passed out on his feet, Ezekiel didn’t stay still for long. That was okay though.)

“Sharknado 3,” is the murmured response, and Jacob snorts.

“Sounds great.” He says, maybe a tad sarcastic (just a bit), flinching slightly when Ezekiel pokes him in the ribs and glances up with a grin, eyes bright with what Jacob figures is too little sleep and too much energy.

“Like it’s any more ridiculous than what we saw last week.” And maybe Jacob shudders with an exaggerated grimace because come on, that chimera was  _ not right _ , but it gets the laugh he was looking for. Rather than answering (because Ezekiel’s right and there’s no need to say it), he leans over enough to press a soft kiss to a still smiling mouth, warm and lazy, a slow slide that lasts little longer than a breath before he’s leaning back with a sigh, settling in for awhile.

Ezekiel blinks at him, smile turned soft, before he shakes his head, flailing around for the remote for a moment to start the movie up again, and settles back down against Jacob’s side.

(Both men were knocked out and sleeping soundly within half an hour, and, despite Ezekiel’s many later attempts, Jacob could still proudly claim he’d never seen the ending of Sharknado 3.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated!
> 
> Feel free to drop by and say hi on [tumblr](https://distinctivelibrarians.tumblr.com)!


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